


The Other War

by archerhatesyou



Category: Death Note
Genre: Drama, F/M, Genderswap, Light is a misogynist, the women are smart for once
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-05 06:52:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3110201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archerhatesyou/pseuds/archerhatesyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And oh, most certainly did he hate this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. intro

The day a very unusual high school student picked up a notebook, the course of a detective's life changed. Though the detective didn't know this at the time.

/ / / / /

The high school student, on the other hand, knew from the very beginning that the course of his life had changed. That is what he had decided, of course, and it was so. But the end he had devised was not what was to become of him. Perhaps he hadn't devised enough about his end, didn't think on it adequately. That may have been his biggest mistake. Though the student didn't know this at the time.

Straightforward allies would be impossible. No matter how faithful an ally might be, Light would never trust him fully. This was too big to rely on other people. Ryuk said it himself—humans are interesting. That meant that humans are imperfect, humans lie, and even with the best and most honest intentions, humans fail.

But Light was to be a god. He could never afford to place his full trust in such fallible creatures. Hell, he couldn't even trust his shinigami, how could a human be any more reliable? No—his allies would have to be manipulated thoroughly as his enemies. A vague trust was all Light really required; he'd do all the rest himself.

That had served him well thus far, staying several paces ahead of the investigators at all turns. The only clues they had were what he chose to leave behind; those he left always led them in just the direction he wanted.

He didn't want to live in fear as world's number one most wanted criminal. Like Ryuk, he wanted to have some fun while changing the world.

Wasn't a god entitled to that?

/ / / / /

Certain things were obvious about Kira from the start.

First of all, that he wanted attention. Logically it was an odd thing for a serial murderer to want, as one most likely didn't want to be caught and attention led to that sort of thing. But if another thing was true about Kira, then wanting attention made sense. That thing was megalomania. And given the little snuff film they'd just seen—a flashy televised display of killing power—delusions of grandeur weren't implausible.

He could have been an agent of redemption, silently cleansing the world of criminals without taking the credit. It might have even been laudable, L had to admit that. But Kira had chosen to go public. That meant he was selfish, needy, egocentric. Psychopathic. In order to kill on such a grand scale, one had to have a certain inborn willingness to do it, an innate want for it. Perhaps killing criminals was just a way to rationalize a pre-existing desire to kill.

That Kira was remaining just above the radar also meant that he was a willing participant in this chase. Kira had proved far too careful to do anything without meaning to. The fact that the investigators knew as much as they did was a testament to that. With a power as seemingly unlimited as what they'd just been shown, Kira could have afforded not to show them anything at all. In fact it might have been easier to remain invisible. But no, this was a game to him. He could reason as he liked, claiming to want to rid the world only of criminals. But this time he had chosen as his target not someone he knew to be a criminal, but a detective. He would not only kill the guilty. That was certain now.

This wasn't about punishing the evil. This wasn't simply a means to gain global recognition. He wasn't taking it all seriously enough—and he had room not to, given the physical distance between him and his victims. Maybe that lack of physical involvement, as with a knife or even a gun, made it feel unreal. Of no consequence. _Fun_. He was merely playing, distanced as he was, with lives as his pawns. A rook here, a knight there—and L was the prize king to be captured.

It was nothing personal. L was 95 percent sure of that.

/ / / / /

But this L character was really starting to wear on him. The incident with the broadcast had all but humiliated him. There was now at least a small reason to doubt Kira—invincible and infallible no more. Word would get out, but at least it wasn't a global broadcast. Time would dilute the loss.

Light would have to be much more careful. L probably wouldn't try this same trick again. Still, maybe it was beneficial to slip up from time to time. You couldn't stay ahead of the game if you didn't understand the other player's strategy. Falling victim to L on occasion would have the advantage of exposing his methods. Every little clue was valuable, and losing some rounds proved to produce some of the most vital clues. Light was willing to take a few hits.

Who was this L, anyway? Surely this person wasn't stupid enough to think that this was a terrible thing, what Kira was doing. If L were really smart, he'd have to admit that there was something to this, killing criminals as punishment and preventative action. It made sense, and several governments around the world agreed. L probably recognized that; he wouldn't have made it this far if he didn't understand Kira's thought processes at least a _little_.

But L had to believe in himself, as well. If he only went after Kira to fulfill his lawful duty, if he didn't believe in the cause wholeheartedly, then he wouldn't be putting his back into it and this wouldn't be as fulfilling a cat-and-mouse chase. In fact, Light was rather grateful for an intelligent adversary. The Death Note itself was infallible, and going up against someone with real brains made this mundane operation much more thrilling.

It was almost too bad he had to make it personal.


	2. misora

Raye's death still rang painfully in her ears; she knew that soon enough it would dissipate and her hearing would return, and so would she return to more or less normal life. But until she could hear, she was alone with her thoughts.

She was desperate to share them.

"Can you just try again?" she pleaded.

"They aren't answering," said the nameless desk jockey, frowning nervously in the face of confrontation. "Can I take a message for you?"

She crossed her arms. Outside the NPA lobby's huge windows, snow was fluttering with a tauntingly oppressive silence.

A paper bag rustled beside her; she glanced up to see it plopped unceremoniously on the counter. A smile of recognition flashed in the receptionist's eyes.

* * *

"Your name is Light? That's unusual."

He nodded, skimming a shoe across the gathering snow as he walked. "It's written with the kanji for 'moon'. And my family name is Yagami, written with 'night' and 'god'." He laughed warmly. "A little pretentious, but I've always liked my name."

"I agree it's lovely." Naomi fed him the characters for Maki Shōko; already she felt such distrust that she was glad to have prepared a fake name ahead of time. Her nerves had her speaking more slowly and carefully than usual, but at least she could sound confident in her recitation. She thought it odd, anyway, this fixation on pronunciations and kanji.

He exhaled heavily. "Kira . . . I think he has control over people's behavior before he kills them."

Naomi felt her stomach surge. "That's what I think too. Kira can definitely control a person's actions before they die. But that's not all." She wasn't sure if she should be telling him all this, but she was morbidly excited that someone else shared her theory. "He can kill by means other than heart attacks."

"What makes you say that?"

"We already agree that he can somehow control their actions. Follow that to its logical conclusion—he can manipulate them into situations that will kill them."

A flicker in his eyes—fear? Why would he feel threatened?

* * *

She noted how he repeatedly checked his watch, followed by glances at her. _What is he waiting for me to do? Why is it on a timetable?_ . . . And somewhere, quietly, in the back of her mind, she heard her own words repeated, mirroring his deductions.

And then, the bud of a new thought: _Is this boy controlling me?_

Surely not. There were plenty of reasons he might be impatient. He was in high school, early college at best, and it was New Year's . . . maybe he'd rather be studying. Maybe he had a date to make. Kira was on her mind's fore; of course that thought would cross it. Erratic behavior on his part didn't make him an automatic suspect.

But the feeling continued to burrow deeper inside her. Would she know if she'd been manipulated? Did Raye?

_Is this the person that killed him?_

Her steps hitched at the thought, but she kept walking. And he kept following.

_What if . . . ?_

* * *

 

He did talk a lot. Nothing in the actual words was out of the ordinary, but listening to words alone wasn't what made her a good agent. If he really were Kira, he'd made it this far by lying off his ass to people who knew more than she did. She was already in trouble; asking couldn't jeopardize her further.

She spoke carefully, though without bothering to hide the fact of her suspicion. "How do you know so much about the investigation?"

The boy looked at his feet before letting out a sigh. "I suppose there's no need to hide it . . . I'm . . . actually _with_ the task force."

Naomi felt her eyes go wide. _Can that be true?_

The boy lowered his head. "I know what you're thinking. I am still in high school, but I've helped the NPA solve cases before. So many detectives have been fleeing this case in fear for their lives that L was concerned he didn't have enough people. It was by my father's recommendation that I was able to join them."

_He what . . . ?_

"I'm busy with school and studying for entrance exams, so I can't drop by all that often. That's why the people at the front desk didn't realize I'm on the task force now." The boy kept talking so she kept listening, but all of it rang so false now. "Of course it wouldn't look good if word got out a high schooler was actively participating in the Kira case, and they don't exactly advertise any individual's involvement." She didn't know how much was a lie, but he'd gotten the most basic of facts wrong. She needed out, and now.

"Well . . . if you're really a member of the task force, then that's as good as having spoken with L." She turned her body, preparing to head back in the opposite direction of the NPA offices.

"Wait—" He reached out toward her. "Are you sure?"

"As long as you get that information to L, I'm satisfied." Naomi was done for the day, but she'd have to come back as soon as possible. This information would never move through him.

"Wait, Maki-san. . . ." She froze almost midstep. "Why don't you join the task force?"

"What?"

"I mean, you're clearly brilliant."

"Oh, I . . . I couldn't."

"I'm positive L would welcome your help. We're all desperate, Maki-san. I can vouch for you."

He had zero intention of bringing her in. He had no authority to. But she needed to give him what he wanted. "Are you sure it's okay?"

"L handpicked us all. If I recommend you personally, I know he'll accept your help. Especially after you tell him what you've figured out." _Her name_. Of course that's what he wanted. "Before I take you to see them, though, I'll need to verify your identity. As a precaution, I'm sure you know."

She hesitated. "Well, as a precaution, I'm sure you understand, I . . . gave you a false name."

The boy closed his eyes and smiled. "See? Brilliant. You're exactly what this investiagtion needs. Are you sure you're not a real investigator?"

Ignoring him by way of focus, she carefully, deliberately rummaged through her bag. _Which wallet was it?_

She opened her palm to him and he took the ID from her, contentedly copying the information—was it that? why would he need to copy it down?—and again she noticed him checking his watch. With the card back in her possession she slowed her pace, dropping behind him; she intended not to miss her cue a second time. Naomi would take her leave right when he expected it, and never, _ever_ look back.


	3. posturing

It was worrisome that Misora Naomi had disappeared. Equally worrisome was the feeling that there was nothing that could be done about it, the feeling that L had already lost. The feeling was like pinpointing a distant mirage; no amount of squinting sharpened the image one iota. And who knew what you might find once you actually reach the thing.

They wouldn't like it, L had foreseen that, but the task force had been ordered to keep watch over the families Penber had followed, as there was a very high probability that Kira belonged to one of those families. The detective already had a favorite candidate. They would surveil two families to keep it fair.

This fact had been kept from the others. L had told Yagami-san that the chances of any one of his family members being Kira were less than ten percent, five percent, et cetera. Really, those numbers were meaningless. Really, there was an unquantifiable feeling of solid certainty. But it was pointless to worry a good father, a good man, at least while it was still possible to keep him in the dark.

The whole idea was just too perfect. Even without a power like Kira's, someone in Yagami Light's position would have to be struck deaf, dumb, and blind not to recognize the endless criminal possibilities before him. Charisma, brains, and friends (or a father) in high places accorded one all manners of inside information. He wouldn't be easily outfoxed.

And then there was the matter of how to get him to reveal himself. All criminals philosophically skewed as Kira—they screw up eventually. But L couldn't wait for the eventual. It would be forced out of him, the sooner the better. This would be a testy week, and Kira wouldn't give himself away without some difficulty; somehow, he would evade detection this time. And still L would have faith that Light was Kira. L chided the reasoning somewhat; Light was damned if he didn't, damned if he did.

Then again, that's probably just what Kira was after.

And really, with a name like Yagami, one might think it was his own choice whether or not he was damned.

/ / / / /

Light knew that he had tied with someone else, but they had yet to meet. He didn't even know the person's name. Maybe it was on the program, but he hadn't picked one up. That he had only tied for first was just frustrating enough that he needed proof. Not that anything could have been done differently, as they had both achieved perfect scores. It still pissed him off. Why hadn't this person surfaced in the national practice exams? With that as warning he might not have felt so cheated.

Suddenly Light was snatched up and placed in line to approach the stage, and he felt someone being placed just behind him. The other top-scorer. He wouldn't be able to see who it was until they were onstage.

He got some odd vibes as they stood facing their applause, and he refrained from taking a peek as he was announced. Of course he kept his cool, but it took much of his strength to focus as he presented his freshman address. Finally he backed down, allowing his counterpart to step forward.

And what a clown. This girl was a sight. Her willowy frame might have been lovely if not for her staggering gait and origami stance, reminiscent of Ryuk in a way. Her build indicated her age: young, but more an adult than Light. (An older student returning to school? Ex-hikikomori? No wonder the perfect score. It hardly seemed fair.) She wore the body of an ex-dancer—long-limbed, lean, with the hint of a newfound sedentary lifestyle—but there was no mistaking her for a ballerina, past or present, with that outlandish posture.

She dangled her speech—no, a _blank_ sheet of paper—in front of her face from her fingertips as though it were evidence that she didn't want to touch. Light expected a meek and stuttering voice, but as she began she spoke with an intelligent, if not bored, cadence, as though this were an irritating obligation and the real show was about to start. What the hell else today was more pressing than giving your freshman address?

Speaking of which, her appearance was less than impressive. Her hair was a dark, shaggy mess, an afternoon too oily, her thinness was masked by baggy men's jeans she'd probably worn every week for five years and a loose-fitting black V-neck. No socks inside her yellowed tennis shoes, their soft backs permanently collapsed from being folded in and walked on for so long, the laces frayed and hanging free. Hems of her jeans in tatters. Light was glad he hadn't foregone the tie for a more casual look; maybe they were tied for brains, but Light was miles ahead of this whack job in professionalism.

When they were released from the stage, Light led them down to their reserved seats in the front of the audience. With a vague sidelong awareness, Light watched her. A shameless observer, her eyes were widened to a constant scrutiny. Maybe it was just his Death Note-related paranoia, but he felt that those eyes were always on him. And not in a flattering way. Well, perhaps that was how she intended it, but there was something very off-putting about the directness of her gaze. He took each step with unwavering confidence to counter his unrest. Mind over matter.

She said his name quietly, yet not quite bothering to whisper.

"What?"

"Son of Detective-Superintendent Yagami Sōichirō?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I want to tell you something. But you mustn't say a word to anyone else."

 _Whatever, freak_. "Sure."

She paused just long enough to make him truly uncomfortable before murmuring, " _I am L_."


	4. plotting

The reaction was no less than she had expected. Besides a little twitch under one eye, which could be interpreted any number of ways, there was no indication of shock or panic. Either he had no idea what she was talking about, or this was the cool, collected face of Kira. And there was something far too confident about the way he stood there. He had surely already come to the conclusion that the name Ryūga Hideko was blatantly unreal, so unless he wanted to risk a dead pop star, there would be no use in even attempting to kill her here and now. He'd have to sing for that supper.

Curious; he offered up his palm for a handshake. Looked good in front of an audience, she supposed. She allowed him these small social victories; initiating the handshake, looking so prim and put-together against her disheveled appearance. He was the one concerned with outward appearances, anyway. She was more concerned with inner turmoil.

And oh, most certainly did he hate this.

He shook his loose bangs out of his eyes with cool-kid flair. "In that case, I applaud your work. You have my full respect and admiration."

_Sure thing, cowboy._

Leaving her shoes on the floor, she delicately leapt into her reserved seat, hugged her knees, buried her chin in her arms. For now she would keep her eyes to herself, instead relying on periphery. He took his place next to her, hands on his thighs. Sat up straight, didn't blink too much, didn't cross his arms or link his fingers—totally open. So there was nothing he wanted to hide. But with his hands balled up into comfortable fists, she could only assume he was poised for a fight.

Suddenly he relaxed fully. Flattened out his hands, slid his feet away from the chair, set his shoulders down. Must have just finished up a little personal pep talk. She took a barefaced look at him to contrast her earlier lack of eye contact. Nothing sidelong now and he might not realize she'd taken note of his transparent body language.

And there was no mistaking it. Those fists had not just been for self-defense. No, he was much too secure for that. He wanted this fight, because he knew he couldn't lose. It was not about the fight in the least; he only wanted the win.

Yet it was clear that he didn't feel like a winner today.

And that would suffice for now.

/ / / / /

So L was a girl. That would take some getting used to.

He'd always imagined L as a man. Not a terribly old man, as L's moves had been both calculated and risky, something an ordinary, aged detective wouldn't have the gall for. He couldn't say as he'd ever imagined L to be any older than his own father. Really more like a grad school dropout that was more criminal than lawman and just way too smart for institutional education. But even that image was liberal. L in his mind was usually an emotionless lab rat, bred to be all brain—all left brain, at that, the kind of guy that thought in graphs and equations instead of Japanese, with some creepy organization pulling his strings. Just short of robot.

And what reason did he ever have to doubt that L was a machine? Obviously L had an identity to protect, but when the only thing you show the outside world is a capital letter clouded by noise and a phonetically garbled voice . . . the whole affair feels artificial. But now L had made the first move.

Hypothetically. Because what if this chick really wasn't L, but just another stand-in? First of all, the real L would have some serious balls, sending such a freak to speak for him. That'd be a good strategy though. A decoy that harebrained couldn't possibly instill fear in anyone. Kira's not afraid, he lets his guard down. L wins.

Light didn't like that.

And if she weren't really L, she was pretty ballsy herself. Everyone knew who Kira was and what he did; even if he didn't have her real name, he knew her face, and that was half the battle. Would she really place herself in such a slippery situation just because some detective was too chicken to step forward himself?

Hell, it could have just been a prank. She mentioned the Kira case, but she hadn't accused Light of anything. Maybe she was just some sheltered home-schooler and this was her best idea at having some fun. And why shouldn't she tease her only intellectual competition?

But that wasn't it. This girl was L. That much was certain. And she'd made a brilliant move—for what it was. Her coming forward like this just meant she didn't have a whit of evidence on him. He was free to just bide his time, lure her in, butter her up. . . .

And there it was.

Light was a charming guy, right? A little sweet-talking would go a long way with someone like her. The world's greatest detective could still be lonely, insecure—especially if she were a woman. For now she was just Ryūga, and suspicious as they were of one another, they'd just be friends. But he would change her mind. A little seducing, and he'd have her trust in the end. There was no doubting that.

This would be a piece of cake.


	5. cream

He would have his doubts that she really was L. He would have to test the waters no matter which way be believed. And the longer he sat on it, the more time she had to watch.

It would also provide an excellent opportunity to gather intangible evidence that he was Kira. He'd passed the round-the-clock-observation test with flying colors, but there was still something to him. Popular, yes; antisocial, perhaps. Antisociality, after all, was general disregard for the rights of others, for societal norms. To subscribe to all of society's norms to a T, down to the girlie mags, was more than a little grotesque. Every normal person has some sort of abnormal hobby. Abnormal people take normality to a whole other level. Bastardize it. On the other hand, Light was less aggressive than the average sociopath. In fact aggression was lacking entirely. That was most suspicious.

So she had to do something to coax out that aggression. Maybe it was a little ostentatious, challenging him to tennis. Perhaps suggestive to spectators of some other underlying relationship. She wasn't a great gauge for broad social opinion, but certainly any outsiders would assume she was out of his league, if not in academics, then in athletics and love. That would make it interesting if she were to win. Two out of three ain't bad, so to speak. Besides, his reaction would be a wonderfully sweet clue.

Still, she had promised herself to let him keep his public reputation. That she privately burned away at his conscience was quite enough. If he had a conscience at all, that is.

She really did rather hate losing.

She pulled her laces tight. Double knot.

This punk would do everything in his power to outplay her in this one match. He would probably overthink every step to try and outsmart her, as though winning or losing might have merit as far as proving his innocence. But this was no trial by combat. All that work would be for naught.

Damned if he didn't, damned if he did.

/ / / / /

When Ryūga won her fourth game in a row, Light felt the sweat on his skin prickling with an extra . . . madness.

And then she won the fifth. And the muscles in his face stiffened.

Heading into their tenth game, he knew he could catch up. He was completely centered; no reason to panic now. He breathed deep, returned precisely, smartly, more so than in previous games.

And the ball bounced right past him.

Back slightly hunched as usual again, Ryūga inspected the strings of her racquet, her spidery fingers squeezing them like claws. The crowd stared on, awestruck. Surely they'd looked up Light, found his tennis champion history. And now he'd lost to some nameless waif?

She was approaching the net; absently he did the same, because it was just right. No need to be a sore loser. She offered up her hand.

 _The fucking nerve_.

He smiled patronizingly as his hardened face would allow, returning the handshake.

"Let me ask you something, Ryūga."

"Just a moment." She tugged on his hand to pull closer to him, whispered in his ear. "I suspect that you are Kira."

She didn't linger or even look at his face, but let go, casual. Ran a hand through her limp hair.

Light shook the sweat from his own hair as he squatted down to stretch out. To focus his anger he admired the ends; he really was in need of a trim.

What part of this goddamn test had he failed? He had even lost, wouldn't Kira have been able to prevent that? Wouldn't Kira not be able to handle that? He hadn't planned to lose, but that was beside the point. Had he overreacted?

"Nothing to worry about, really," she added softly. "Just one percent or so. I do hope to get your name cleared," she said, patting him on the shoulder, "as I could use your assistance on this case."

He had managed to kill while he was under surveillance in his own home, but here she was, accusing him to his face. So would it matter if he had passed this test too? She was two wings shy of batshit crazy; there was probably no reasoning with her. And now that she'd said the words, even if it were just a one percent chance, he was totally in the doghouse until he proved himself innocent.

 _She got me again_.

"Did you want to ask me something, Yagami?"

He had already snatched her little wrist before he regained total control of himself. He relaxed his grip as immediately as he could, but it might have been too late. He hung on limply, trying to make it look friendly.

"Hey, hey." Light looked up to meet the eyes of one of the older spectators—a teacher, a coach, maybe. He smiled tentatively. "The young lady didn't embarrass you _that_ bad, did she?"

Light shuddered with incredulity as Ryūga answered, "It's nothing to be concerned about. He was simply inviting me to coffee to cool down."

The teacher seemed suspicious, but shrugged it off before wandering away from them. Definitely a coach looking to recruit.

"So, Yagami. I believe there are some things we have to discuss, but it would be best to vacate."

He clenched his teeth, relaxed. "Coffee it is."

And now he was really digging himself in deep. When he had conceived of seduction, he hadn't meant for it to be a public event.

* * *

It was difficult to avoid overthinking every choice. She had allowed him to choose their location, and he'd used that to his advantage. There was enough activity in the place as a whole that they wouldn't stand out, but an isolated alcove in the back meant that they could speak candidly without being overheard.

As for what to order, he went with his gut: coffee, plain but for a touch of cream. He was a bit surprised when Ryūga asked for decaf.

"Really?" he asked as the waitress shuffled off.

She stared. "Unlike me, you think?"

"You seem the type that might be addicted to caffeine."

"Truthfully, too much of it makes me feel ill. My vices lie elsewhere."

He knew of the usual vices—cigarettes, alcohol, sex, and the like—but hers were likely to be out of the ordinary. This was all very interesting to Light. Ryūga was an unknown quantity for several reasons, and he found himself drawn to her out of a curiosity unrelated to their unspoken enmity. He'd spent plenty of time with girls his own age, but for all he knew, women were something else entirely. But maybe not. Perhaps there was little difference between girls and women. Ryūga was young enough that she wasn't entirely an adult anyway; as a detective she would be hard to outwit, but as a female she might be quite easy to manipulate.

"I believe you were about to ask me something, Yagami-kun."

He bristled at the familiar address. What was this, grade school? So what if she was older? She wanted to pin him as the world's number-one murderer, and she had the balls to use _kun_. Talk about throwing caution to the wind. "Forget it. It wouldn't do any good unless you know I'm not Kira."

"Do you believe that I am L?"

"Not entirely." He hushed himself as the waitress dropped off their orders.

"May I have creamer?" Ryūga asked her softly. "A lot of it, if you please." When the waitress left again, the detective hummed. "Why not?"

"You're a damn freak," he blurted. He may have been less ashamed to have said it if it hadn't been under his breath. This childish image was not what he'd wanted to project. Maybe it would serve him better in the long run if she thought him more immature, less calculated, than Kira. But for reasons he didn't want to admit, he didn't _want_ her to think of him as a child.

She just nibbled her thumbnail. "Unfamiliar as I am with interpersonal etiquette, that still registers as something of a rude evaluation." She plopped several sugar cubes into her mug and set to the task of stirring.

"Sorry, Ryūga. But at this point in your life it just seems that your level of . . . oddity won't be resolved without some explicit confrontation. Implicit tactics clearly haven't done the trick."

"You believe that this 'freak' quality, as you say, needs resolving?"

"Sure, if you want friends."

"Do I want friends?" she challenged gently.

Already she was talking to him like a child. This would get him nowhere. He needed to stay close to her and the investigation, but if she didn't think of him as level with her, she would never give him the access to the case that he required.

The waitress returned with a handful of little single-serving creamer cups. "Anything else?" she chirped.

"No," Light said. "Thank you very much." He flashed a pretty smile, and the girl blushed dreamily before scurrying off again. Ryūga watched all this as she pulled open several of the creamers. Perhaps this was one of the vices she was referring to.

"Don't you want friends?" he prodded, amending his tone to echo the maturity in hers.

"I'll be asking the questions here, Yagami-kun."

So that had little effect on her. He tilted his head, clearing his bangs from in front of his eyes. Girls seemed to like when he showed more of his face. "So if I had asked my initial question, would you have answered?"

"Yes," she said without so much as a glance at him—she was busy stacking the empty creamer cups—"but you have since relinquished your rights to inquiry, outside those concerning the logistics of this conversation."

He rolled his small eyes, careful to close them first. There had to be something in his masculine wiles that would get to her. Would it just take time?

"In any case, what bearing does this quality have on my identity?" she asked.

"Well, anyone could approach someone and tell him that she's L. Seems to me that people of the 'freak' persuasion would be more inclined to such a thing." His bangs fell back across his face.

"However."

"However you're more brilliant than the average oddity. While I would've expected L to be someone much different, your personality is starting to fit the bill."

She tapped the bottom of her tower with the flat of one nail, toppling the little cups. Her big dark eyes looked up at Light. His own were drawn to her top lip, parting from the bottom ever so slightly as the heel of her hand pressed into her cheek. "I must say, in all you're rather defensive."

If he'd allowed it, his face would have flushed. His legs, however, were decidedly numb, and there was no controlling that. "What am I defending?"

Those huge eyes didn't narrow, but the muscles around them went tense with scrutiny. "That's unclear." She sipped at her coffee, and reached again for the sugar.


	6. compass

She observed as Light chose the seat near the head of the hospital bed, and for a moment moved to reach out for his father's hand but stayed himself. L wished it were appropriate to ask why. Any teenaged boy fretful over his father's condition might instinctively go to touch him; he may be equally embarrassed to actually do so. But she couldn't shake the feeling that he was too well composed. The upward curve of his brows, the slight trembling of his lips, the delicate sheen of sweat on his skin—all of it was right. He was so _right_. Was he perfectly normal, or a mockery of it?

L was rarely so paranoid, suggesting the latter.

Compounded with Light's stirring reaction, regardless of its authenticity, L was admittedly shaken to see a man tenacious as Yagami-san lying in a hospital bed. His heart attack was unlikely to be linked to Kira in any concrete way, but that was little consolation. Even with a preternaturally powerful killer looming, the mundane threats of the world continued to reign, unaffected.

"You two came here together?" observed Yagami-san. "What were you doing with her, Light?" He looked at L with wary eyes. Not long before had he sat with her and spied on his son in his own home.

"Oh, uh. . . ." The boy rubbed the stress from his tired face. "We were having coffee. We'd met up to play some tennis on campus."

"Your son is a poor sportsman, Yagami-san."

The old man laughed heartily while Light glared at the wall. "Well, Ryūzaki, I suppose that's my fault. When he was small I never liked seeing him accept defeat. I believe he picked up on that as he grew."

"Indeed," said L earnestly.

"So you know this girl, Dad?" Light leaned over his knees, clasping his hands in thought. "She goes by Ryūga Hideko at school, but I didn't figure that was her real name. I hear that name on TV all the time anymore, thanks to Sayu."

Yagami glanced at her for permission; she nodded. "Yes, Light. This young woman is L."

For a moment the boy's eyes widened before he settled back into his chair. "So it is true."

"You told him, Ryūzaki?" asked Yagami-san.

"I did. However he was respectfully hesitant to believe it." _Well, hesitant, at the least_. While she hadn't expected him to lose the tennis match and take it well, physical violence was another matter. Part of the reason she'd wanted to initially evaluate his personality in public was in case something like that were to happen.

"You told him who you are? So that must mean. . . ." Yagami-san searched her face hopefully, unwilling to vocalize the charges in front of his son.

And this was what L hated most. She actively _liked_ this man. His work ethic was admirable, he was smart, honorable, and willing to make the hard decisions for the good of the many. And still he was less willing than _her_ to make them. It made him a good partner to her, a stronger voice of conscience than her own. A good foil was hard to come by, and she'd been lucky that this man was one of the few remaining investigators from the NPA.

So he didn't deserve to be lied to, and she hated that. "No, Yagami-san, I'm afraid your son is not one hundred percent clear of suspicion." Both men cast her looks of warning. To the father she said, "Light and I have already discussed it somewhat."

"And Dad knew about this too?" She glanced at his hands, open and relaxed against his knees. He already knew the answer. He wasn't asking to find out; he was asking to _appear_ to find out.

L wished to watch this unfold, hoping to observe the closeness of their relationship, so she pressed her thumbs to the corners of her mouth and said nothing. Yagami-san visibly struggled with guilt before spilling the proverbial beans about the FBI and Penber in particular. She wasn't quite listening but stared openly as she sucked up every bit of Light's reaction like a feeding vampire. A blush and mild distaste in his cheeks; irritation on his brow; resignation in his shoulders, low and lax above crossed arms. It was a good look, sure enough, but she still had the feeling it was carefully cultivated. A sensible reaction where senselessness might be appropriate.

"Yagami-kun, if I may." His gold-flecked eyes met hers, and rather unabashedly, considering what had just been 'revealed' to him. Just how sensible was he? "What kind of person is Kira?"

He raised an eyebrow in thought. "Well, theoretically. . . ." _Nice_. "If you consider the method, it's like a superpower, right? We don't know the mechanics but that's the idea." He hesitsted.

"Go on," she said.

"Gender probably isn't important, but I think age is. If a little kid had a superpower like that—if he used it at all, he'd use it on people he knows, people he didn't like. And an adult would use it for his own gain, like monetary or political power. But older kids, like teenagers—"

"Light," cautioned Yagami-san.

" _Dad_ , I'm just being honest. Middle schoolers or high schoolers are still idealistic enough to build some kind of morality around a power like that." He looked at L. "Right?"

She bit at her thumbnail. Kira or no, it was smart reasoning.

_Really_ smart.

"That's enough, Light," said Yagami-san. "I've spent long enough worrying about you being a possible suspect, I won't have it drudged up again here by you yourself."

"There's also Sayu," L mumbled.

Light's chair clattered back as he stood abruptly, towering over her. "He _just_ said he doesn't want—"

"It's fine," said Yagami-san, patting the air, "sit down. Honestly I'm relieved that she'll speak so candidly in front of you. Sayu is innocent anyway. I know it. I feel it."

_Your son, however_. . . . "Yagami-kun, you've proven to me that you're quite sharp. Perhaps, when your father's condition improves, you'd consider joining us on the task force." Both men looked up, mouths agape. "School permitting, of course."

He settled into a self-satisfied, predatory grin. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

By the time visiting hours ended, night had long fallen. They padded through the halls of the hospital, side-by-side, however awkwardly. On her phone she tapped out a quick e-mail to Watari, pleading for rescue.

"Do you think Kira ever fails an attempt to kill someone?" Light asked quietly.

_Interesting_. "It's hard to know. However there has been no rise in reports of nonlethal heart attacks among criminals, so my instinct says no."

Light hummed gravely. "I agree, so I can't say I believe he's directly responsible for what happened to my dad today. But. . . ." He stared off distantly as he walked. "He hasn't been home. He's probably not sleeping. The stress alone might kill him. You know?" He held open the door of the entrance, allowing her to lope through. "I need to catch him. So I'm really glad you trust me enough to ask me to join you. I want to do this."

"It's got nothing to do with trust."

He closed his eyes, looking bitter. "What do I have to do to prove to you I'm _not_ Kira?"

L tapped the corner of her mouth. "If we appeal strictly to rhetoric, it's true that the burden of proof lies on you, as I have yet to assert that you are Kira, while you have made a claim."

He stared back at her blankly. "So?"

"However, practically, it's up to me as the detective to prove that someone _is_. In other words, it's my job, not yours."

"You don't seem to understand. I need you to believe me."

"Why?"

Confusion washed across his face. "Because I want to help you."

"And I'm pleased to hear it. But I fail to see why you must be cleared of all suspicion to work with me."

He shook his head, gears turning. _That's it. Puzzle it out._ "If I'm not Kira, you've got another brain on the case. If I am, you've kept your enemies close."

"Correct."

"But wouldn't you rather work with someone you don't suspect at all?"

"Yes."

"Then—put me somewhere I have no TV or Internet. You know, some kind of solitary confinement."

She glanced up at him; he was casually brushing hair away from his face, but he looked serious. In an instant her stomach was a knot of nerves. "You are aware," she said, masking her panic, "that the true culprit would suggest such a thing as part of some sinister gambit."

Light tilted his head quizzically. "Sure, I guess, but. . . ." _Well-played_ , she thought as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "You've got me under some real pressure, Ryūga. How do you think it feels—"

"Truthfully, I don't care how it feels." His brow furrowed in surprise; because of her declaration, or because she had the audacity to cut him off? "Your feelings aren't my concern. My concern is my job, and my job is preventing more of these senseless deaths." _Say they aren't senseless, I dare you._ "If your discomfort is the price of catching Kira, so be it."

_Say it._

He stood, lips parted slightly in disbelief, before looking at the night sky and exhaling lightly. "I'm not trying to imply that you're screwing around," Light said bashfully.

"I know what you're doing," she assured him. L felt excellent relief wash over her as Watari's vehicle crawled up beside them. She got in without another word, and uneventfully they pulled away. As soon as the boy's silhouette was out of sight, her whole body relaxed, like a cat slowly withdrawing her claws from the earth.

She melted into the upholstery, codifying her thoughts. With so many cameras present in his room during the surveillance period, there was no way someone so sharp wouldn't find some of them. And yet the fact of cameras in his room apparently wasn't disturbing enough to mention to his father, a _cop_ , the one person in his life who might be able to explain or remedy such a situation.

If no deaths had occured while Light was being watched, it might easily have been explained as coincidence; while a source of unease for Yagami-san, it would have raised no further suspicion. But to have deaths occur at those most crucial, pinpoint-precise moments—that _did_.

Rationally she knew it was fair to consider the situation apart from him. Facts first, with conclusions to follow. _Never_ in any previous investigation had she needed to remind herself of this. It was fallacious to work backwards from a preconceived conclusion, and she was dangerously, uncomfortably close to begging the question. But however intangible, her evidence was there. It was a like a planet detectable only by the dimming of its star, a gentle tug on its neighbor. It was a violinist instinctively shifting to higher notes on a fretless fingerboard. It was her own innate sense of direction, with no indication other than the feeling in her skin. She could always point to north; compasses only corroborated what she knew to be true.

This was no longer a matter of "if". The burden of proof was now officially on her.

And all she needed was a compass.


	7. revolutions

And then, things went all to hell.

For awhile Matsuda felt that Ryūzaki had things under control. Not that things were exactly going well, but she was at least on the right track. There was analysis and reasoning, there were predictions, there was a plan. She had things under control.

But now . . . just, _shit_. All talk of missing investigators ceased when Watari interrupted them. It was like some awful show—well, it _was_ a show, but there was more to it than what was airing on Sakura TV. The tempest of information that flooded task force headquarters roared with maddening force. He watched helplessly as Ukita fled the room, and Matsuda wanted to stop him but he was underwater and his words came out as gasping bubbles. Things rushed past so quickly that he felt tipsy with it all.

The best he could do was attempt to phone the TV station; behind him, Aizawa too was struggling to connect with his contacts there. After several attempts Matsuda's brain numbed at the insistent, incessant busy tones drowning him, but something drew his eyes back to the broadcast—a dark shape, still, before the glass doors of the station.

" _Guys_. . . ." It was the most he could croak out. Their eyes followed his and for a moment all mouths hung open, struck by Ukita's fate.

But then Aizawa was on point, and like a coiled snake he wanted so badly to strike, but L wouldn't let him. She just watched, rapt, eyes wider than he had ever seen, and Aizawa pressed her but she refused, saying it was too dangerous. Matsuda wanted to tell him, No, she's not letting the situation stagnate, she knows what she's doing, leave her be—but in the tangled atmosphere of this room and so many organic and televised voices he could barely breathe, let alone add to the noise, the too much, the fear and the chaos and the mess of death on display for all of Japan to see.

"Matsuda."

The voice came as a low murmur, so quiet it could have just been his imagination. Aizawa was seated before the monitors beside Ryūzaki, but he was the only one watching them. The edges of Ryūzaki's profiled silhouette burned blue-white as she spoke.

"Breathe deeply, Matsuda-san. I need you, as well."

His eyes drifted closed, hypnotized by her even, lilting tone. The ocean of sound in his head washed away; the turbid noise of the three televisions converged into a single braid of information; and like a radio fine tuning to the right station he slowly came to.

_A name and a face. . . ._

"Ryūzaki . . . if Kira already knew who was on the task force. . . ." _Was that how Ukita had been targeted so easily?_

"Oh, please," grumbled Aizawa.

But Ryūzaki was listening. "Yes?" she urged.

_Maybe, but. . . ._ "Then why hadn't he already killed us?"

"Just think about it," said Aizawa bitterly. "Ukita lost his life because he dared to show himself. Kira just didn't have our faces yet."

_Our names without our faces. . . ._ "If he's only got our names, how would he know which of us that was?" Aizawa lifted an eyebrow at him suspiciously.

"And anyone approaching with a gun might not necessarily be on the task force," said Ryūzaki. "He could have been just any plainclothes detective. Kira might have no way of knowing."

"Doesn't it seem. . . ." Matsuda patted his hair, gaze frozen on the hazy image of poor Ukita's body being hefted onto a stretcher. "Not very well calculated?"

Aizawa and Ryūzaki looked up in tandem. "Elaborate," she demanded quietly.

"I don't know, if he's got the means to kill us and hadn't already, he was waiting for something. Right?" He glanced at Ryūzaki, who was mentally chewing at the thought. "I mean . . . was he really waiting for this?"

_Faces without names . . . ?_

"What are you thinking about, Matsuda-san?"

He met her drilling stare. She already had an answer; she was waiting for him to connect the same dots. _Am I that close?_ But he shook his head in frustration. "No, that _can't_ be right, though. He needs a face _and_ a name." She broke her stare and returned her attention to the broadcast, which he took as an affirmative. "Are you saying all he needs is a face?"

And then an armored car exploded through the doors of Sakura TV.

"Son of a bitch," said Aizawa, shooting up out of his seat. "Who is that?"

A grin may even have flicked across Ryūzaki's lips. "Someone who beat Matsuda and me to the same conclusion."

/ / / / /

She could have laughed, so great had been her relief at the sight of what was surely Yagami-san taking control of a dire situation. Regardless of what was actually accomplished inside that building, the majority of his triumph was just in thwarting Kira's authority.

L had been unsure of her small team at first. She trusted their allegiances, but now she had a taste of their abilities as well. Yagami-san performed just as expected, a wise and valuable actor even independent of them as an organization. Aizawa was bold and aggressive, brave in the face of facts and unknowns that might kill him. And Matsuda . . . well, he was certainly different. As a detective he didn't quite apply himself—though if Aizawa's tone toward him was any indication, it was likely due to blows to his confidence—and he appeared to think strictly with his gut. But that might have its worth. He had come to the same conclusion as her, but where she had met it through logic, his brain seemed to have little involvement, relying instead on the sensations of the situation and raw instinct. 

Unfortunately, the event had exposed some very painful problems with L's approach to the case. She regretted Ukita's loss with a large degree of guilt. _A name and a face_ —that was the rule. Yet essentially she was working with a supernatural killer; she thus had no right to assume that the rules would be consistent. That was the problem with supernatural claims; whether the gods be capricious or kind, there was no internal consistency between their tales. There were canons, but there were apocrypha as well. There were rules, and rule-breakers.

In fact, something Matsuda had said stuck with her long after the excitement was over. _Not very well calculated_. . . . This was Kira they were talking about; if he'd had any information about the task force, would he have squandered it so shamelessly on such a trashy TV network?

The answer was simple: he would not. Or, more accurately, he _did_ not. It was just too unclean. Spastic, in a way. Kira, for the most part, had his wits about him. He was methodical. He liked plans. He lay traps and tricks far in advance, and performed experiments with minimal materials. He would never instigate a situation where he could not predict the outcome.

And so it appeared that theirs was not a monotheistic world.

* * *

L decided to make breakfast. 

The kitchenette was well-stocked with mostly Japanese wares, but after their trying night she suspected the men might need more protein to reinvigorate them. The foodstuffs that weren't strictly Japanese (or sugar-based) belonged to Watari, so she first asked his permission before making eggs and link sausage for the team.

She set two plates on the low table before Aizawa and Matsuda, along with mugs of unadulterated coffee. Aizawa grimaced. "No thanks."

L shrugged. "More for you, Matsuda-san." She took a third plate to drop off with Watari.

The detectives spoke quietly in her absence, intending not to be heard, but their voices echoed along the empty walls of the suite. "It's really good, Aizawa-san." The tone was pleasantly surprised. Watari grinned at her, accepting his own plate.

There was a pause in the other room. "I don't like Western breakfasts."

"But I've seen you eat this stuff before."

"Shut up, Matsuda."

When she returned, Matsuda was sitting up and looking quite relaxed. "Thanks," he said to her. He nudged the full plate toward Aizawa. "At least try it."

"I doubt either of you have a trustworthy sense of taste."

"Aren't you eating?" he asked L, ignoring his stubborn companion.

"I don't want any."

"Do you eat regular food at all?"

"Cake is regular food."

Matsuda smiled in place of laughter; after a moment, his face blanked. "Wait, you're serious, aren't you?"

She said nothing.

Matsuda chewed happily. "What about pancakes, do you eat pancakes?"

"Sometimes."

"What kind of syrup do you use?"

" _Matsuda_ ," said Aizawa sharply.

" _What?_ I was just making conversation." Absently he stabbed at some egg with his fork. "Not like I have anything else to talk to her about."

"Like an investigation?"

Matsuda raised his eyebrows. "But you'd make fun of me for trying."

"Strawberry," said L, bailing Aizawa out of having to answer for himself.

"Huh?"

"Strawberry syrup."

"They have that?"

Aizawa clicked his tongue and angrily pulled at the plate intended for him. 

"If you mean to drown us out with chewing," said L, "toast might be more effective."

Matsuda got up sheepishly. "I'll do it."

Aizawa waved toward him, motioning him to sit back down. "I don't want toast, you idiot." He cut off pieces of egg and sausage with the edge of his fork and shoveled them in. They watched him eat, Matsuda nervously, L with disinterest.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"You're the only commotion worth observing at the moment."

He sighed in surrender. "It is good," he admitted slowly, glancing uncertainly at L. "No offense, but I didn't think you'd know how to cook actual food."

"Beethoven wrote music without hearing it," offered Matsuda.

"Beethoven wasn't _born_ deaf."

"Nor have I always had access to sweets," said L.

At that he halted all lines of inquiry. While more combative than most Japanese she had met, Aizawa was still Japanese. His culture had raised him not to pry, and even as an investigator that habit would have been hard for him to break. Besides, L's personal background was unnecessary for the investigation. Still she was careful to imply that she'd had a human upbringing, as well.

"Why don't you both go home," she said finally.

"Shouldn't we get to work on this right away?" asked Aizawa.

"Only once you've rested. Watari and I will make preparations. Return tonight and we'll begin in earnest."

* * *

Aizawa would certainly be the one to challenge her. She suspected this was in part the cause of his attitude at breakfast; it was clear he didn't like her, but normally he wasn't so overt about it. In truth she liked this about him; while Yagami-san was good for peaceably offering alternate approaches, Aizawa's spark openly antagonized her.

Late in the evening she was still reviewing the footage from the previous night's carnage. There was nothing more to discover, but revisiting it was the only way she knew to express her grief. She clutched a fresh cup of spearmint tea close to her face, the scent of it feeling cold as the steam seeped into her pores.

She muted it when she heard the main door of their suite click open, and close heavily, the automatic lock falling hard back into place. The sound of sock feet shuffled across the carpet with despondency. The sacrifices demanded for being part of this team were probably hardest on him. It must be difficult for him to put his family to bed, just to leave them alone.

"Ryūzaki?"

The voice hovered high above her chair; she hummed her acknowledgement, willing him to speak his mind. The recording of Ukita's lifeless body rolled on silently.

Aizawa stepped forward, crouching next to her and balancing himself with an elbow on the armrest. "You were wrong."

She said nothing, allowing her lack of contradiction to serve as agreement.

"He was my friend—he was everyone's friend."

Again, she remained quiet; that way, he could project onto her silence whatever shame or guilt he wished her to feel. She did feel these things, but didn't think she could articulate them convincingly.

"You know," he intoned, "normally it's what you _do_ that makes me hate you." Straight to the point. That was another thing that separated him from Yagami-san; he didn't mince words. He was just about as diplomatic as L herself. "I think Ide was right not to want to work with you. You're . . . dangerous. Risk is necessary sometimes, I get that. But danger isn't."

"You were ready to walk out there too, Aizawa-san."

"And you _stopped_ me." He shook his head. "Why didn't you stop _him_?"

She poked at a sugar cube on her saucer, watching it tumble onto the table with a crunchy _taptap_. "I was too slow."

"Bullshit. I think you _wanted_ one of us to go to test the waters for you, because I think that's all we are to you."

She whipped her head to face him, infusing her voice with quiet tension. "You've seen me offer sacrifices, so I understand your suspicion. But do you _truly_ believe that I would willingly offer up one of my own to that demon, one of the few men left beside me in spite of their hatred for and distrust of me? Would I willingly confirm the hatred and distrust of those remaining?"

Aizawa gaped at her emotional display; she understood his confusion, because it had rattled her too. Breaths were coming shallow in her chest, her skin prickling with chills. This case was starting to change her, and apparently one of those changes was heightened impatience.

He heaved out a shaky sigh as he stood. "I don't think I'll ever not blame you for this."

"That's fine. I do not wish to be cleared of blame."

She started when he laid a hand on her shoulder and patted once, twice. "Thanks."

L decided not to ask what for.


	8. rem

"Wouldn't this be easier if you just gave me the notebook, Rem?"

Misa sat in front of the news. She had candies, and was innocent. "No."

"Well _I_ think so. You're nice, I don't like ordering you around. I can do it myself."

"No."

"Why not? Kira has his own, right? Humans get them sometimes." A candy crunched between her teeth.

"You're not like that person. You're better than that person."

"Is it not a boy?"

"I don't know."

"How can we find out? You know his shinigami, right?"

"Not personally."

"Why can't I have the note?"

"What would you do with it?"

Misa's head tilted. She thought. "I want to help Kira. I'm going to find him, and thank him. I want to work with him."

"You don't need the note for that."

"It would help."

"Jealous wouldn't have wanted that fate for you."

Misa narrowed her eyes. "Did you _like_ Jealous, Rem? _Like_ like him?"

"Not particularly."

Misa was quiet. "What do you mean, _that fate_? If you can tell me."

"Humans with death notes die in misery."

Misa was quiet. "Do you like me?"

Rem was quiet.

"Can I see it? The note."

Rem handed her the book. Misa opened it. "What's all this on the inside cover?"

"How it works."

"It's shinigami writing?" She turned a page. "It looks funny." Misa put another candy in her mouth. "So how does it work?"

"The human who uses the notebook can go to neither heaven nor hell."

"Is that the first rule?"

"No."

"It's one of the rules though?"

"Yes."

Misa hummed. She stared through the pages. She didn't blink. "I see what you mean."


End file.
